


Maundy

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Good Omens Kink Meme [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book Elements, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Good Omens Kink Meme, M/M, Old-Timey Medicine, Pre-Slash, Show Elements, do not do this at home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25007437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: After the church bombing, they go back to the bookshop where Aziraphale washes and bandages his burnt feet.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Kink Meme [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535939
Comments: 17
Kudos: 102
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	Maundy

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [Good Omens Kink Meme](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/) on dreamwidth, prompt: [Aziraphale rests his head on Crowley's knee/thigh after cleaning his feet post-church bombing](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=2950489#cmt2950489)
> 
> unbetaed

_ I love him. I love him. I love him. _

Aziraphale’s ears were still ringing--with his revelation, and with the aftershocks of the bomb--as he got into Crowley’s car, tucking the satchel of books between his feet to brace them. The air raid seemed to have passed, but the streets were still dark, like they always were at night now, and Crowley drove carefully, avoiding piles of rubble and the police stanchions that sometimes blocked the road. Aziraphale tried to collect his thoughts, slow his racing heart, but too soon they were pulling up in front of the bookshop. Crowley shifted the car into park but didn’t turn off the engine, and they sat side by side for the first time in 80 years, not speaking.

“Well, here you are,” Crowley said finally, tipping his head toward the bookshop’s front doors. He still refused to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Come inside,” Aziraphale said, before he lost his nerve. Crowley’s head spun around to look at him, the dark lenses of his glasses giving nothing away. “If you haven’t anywhere else to be. It’s been a long time, dear boy.”

“It has,” Crowley said quietly, voice full of something Aziraphale couldn’t interpret.

“I’ve a lovely bottle of scotch I’ve been saving, we could open it up.”

“We’re celebrating?” Crowley asked with a humorless smile.

“I should say so!” Aziraphale said. “I’ve missed you,” he added, more quietly.

Crowley murmured something too low for Aziraphale to make out, and then nodded once. “Alright, angel, lead the way.”

Aziraphale stepped out of the car, books in tow, and met Crowley at the shop’s front door. He opened it with a wave of his hand, and they stepped into the gloom, the space dark as pitch with the blackout curtains drawn. A click of the fingers lit one of the candles on the little table by the door, and he carried it with him into the backroom, knowing Crowley would follow.

Despite the long lapse, the shop hadn’t changed much since the last time Crowley had been here, but for the acquisition of more books. The backroom, too, was much the same: same slightly dusty furniture, same stacks of books on every available surface. Aziraphale hung his hat on the rack and set the candle on the tiny square of free space on the little table next to his reading chair, before going to clear enough space on the couch for Crowley to sit, half-muttered apologies about the mess falling from his lips. He looked up in time to see Crowley walk over to the couch, and noticed a hitch in his gait.

“Dear boy, you’re limping!” he exclaimed, reaching out to help Crowley settle himself on the couch.

“It’s nothing,” Crowley said, but there was a tightness around his eyes that not even his glasses could hide. “Just some residual damage from being in the church.”

“You must let me do something to help, then,” Aziraphale said, holding up a hand when Crowley began to protest. “It’s my foolishness that forced you to walk on holy ground, anyway. Please.”

“Alright,” Crowley grumbled, sitting back and crossing his arms somewhat petulantly.

Aziraphale knelt at his feet and stared at the snakeskin shoes, a little lost for a moment for how to begin. Memories flashed through his mind of times when cleaning or even touching another’s feet was deeply meaningful, but he pushed them aside and began by rolling up the cuffs of Crowley’s trousers, revealing knee-length socks in a black and red argyle pattern. He carefully removed one shoe and then the other, wincing when Crowley hissed at the release of pressure on his feet. The socks came next, rolled down as carefully as he could manage, baring slim, pale calves and feet speckled with black scales. The tops of Crowley’s feet seemed fine, but the bottoms were a different story.

The skin there was red and inflamed, not quite blistering but close. Aziraphale tutted and sat back, pushing himself to his feet. “Stay there,” he said, as Crowley looked like he was going to move, and then went up the stairs to the kitchenette of the flat above. He didn’t want to risk exacerbating the damage by using miracled items to treat the burns, so he dug around the kitchen and linen closet, filling his arms with the items he needed.

“What’s all that?” Crowley asked when he reentered the backroom, and Aziraphale smiled. He set most of the items to the side, then slid the basin of cool water closer to Crowley, placing his feet into it one at a time.

“Cool water first, to lower the temperature of your skin,” Aziraphale said. “Keep them there for twenty minutes, but don’t let your feet touch the bottom.” Crowley grumbled but did as he was told, and Aziraphale sat back, setting to work on his next task. He took the large white sheet he’d brought down and started tearing it into strips, using a little angelic strength to complete the task without scissors. Crowley watched him passively, or at least Aziraphale thought he did; it was hard to tell with the sunglasses still on.

When it was time, Aziraphale removed Crowley’s feet from the water and dried them carefully but thoroughly with a towel. He tore another towel down into pieces to make a pad for each foot, and then slathered the first with honey.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Crowley asked, pulling his foot away when Aziraphale reached for it.

“It’s a human remedy for burns,” Aziraphale said, grabbing his ankle anyway and pressing the honeyed pad to the bottom of the foot. Crowley hissed, but didn’t pull away again, so Aziraphale used one hand to start wrapping the pad into place, holding it with the other. “You can’t heal a holy wound, and I can’t risk exposure to a miracle making the damage worse, so here we are.”

Crowley grumbled something under his breath, but Aziraphale ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. Soon enough, he had both feet neatly wrapped and resting on the floor in front of him, the bandages stark against Crowley’s dark clothes.

Aziraphale paused for a moment, the events of the last few hours all hitting at once. Almost being discorporated barely registered compared to the risk Crowley had exposed himself to, not to mention the realization Aziraphale himself had had, which he had the feeling would not let him alone any time soon. He wrapped his hands around Crowley’s calves, just above the bandages, and let out a tiny sob, his head dropping forward to rest on Crowley’s knee.

Crowley made one of those nonsensical consonant-filled sounds of his and dropped his hand to Aziraphale’s head, but didn’t push him away, so Aziraphale stayed where he was, cheek pressed to the worsted wool of Crowley’s trouser leg, stretched tightly over the knobble of his knee. After a moment, Crowley’s fingers began to card through Aziraphale’s hair, and the angel closed his eyes, grounding himself in the sensation, letting all complex thought drift away.

Aziraphale didn’t know how long they sat there, Crowley on the couch and Aziraphale on his knees at his feet, but when he opened his eyes daylight was peeking around the edges of the blackout curtains, and the sounds of a bustling city were just barely audible. Aziraphale sat back and cleared his throat, sure his cheeks were bright red. Crowley’s expression was unreadable, and Aziraphale mentally cursed his dark lenses.

“How are your feet feeling, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly, unwilling to completely break the soft, liminal feel of the moment but unwilling to be silent in the face of Crowley’s blank expression.

“Better,” Crowley said, equally quietly. “Could probably head home.”

“No, stay,” Aziraphale said, reaching out to touch Crowley’s knee but stopping just short, not sure if touching was still allowed. “You can put your feet up, rest here. I’ll wake you for dinner.” He held his unnecessary breath as Crowley looked down at him for a long moment, then released it when the other being nodded.

“Alright, angel,” he said. Aziraphale helped Crowley shift his feet up so he was laying on the couch, feet propped up on a pillow. Aziraphale draped the blanket from the back of the couch over him, and Crowley took off his glasses, setting them on the arm of the couch, and closed his eyes.

Aziraphale stepped back, unwilling to take his eyes off the resting demon. “Sleep well, my dear,” he said softly, and got a mumble and a waved hand in response. He backed up until he was standing at the base of the stairs, shoulders pressed against the doorframe, but didn’t turn to go up to the flat.

He may no long have his sword, but he could still stand guard.

**Author's Note:**

> "Maundy" refers to the washing of the feed of the poor, a ritual significant to early Christianity.
> 
> Do not do what Aziraphale is doing; modern medicine is better than this. Medical grade honey only for wounds and burns, and only if you know the wound isn't infected. More info [here](https://www.healthline.com/health/honey-for-burns#:~:text=Honey%20might%20be%20safe%20to,%2Dinflammatory%2C%20and%20antioxidant%20properties.).
> 
> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/622399505874239488/maundy-melayneseahawk-good-omens-neil-gaiman)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


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